


Lazy Saturday Morning

by WilwyWaylan



Series: Feuilly Week [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, and french cuisine, and stupid slippers, but just a hint, fluffy fluff, with a hint of smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 14:38:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12483916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WilwyWaylan/pseuds/WilwyWaylan
Summary: Saturday mornings are the best when you don't have to work and your very sexy boyfriend decides to cook you breakfast.





	Lazy Saturday Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Second day of Feuilly Week ! Prompts were "singing together" and "nutella". I couldn't resist the fluff potential in THIS !

It's the sound that wakes up Feuilly. A deep, barytone voice that sings something he can't quite recognize, floating through the appartment, low and soothing. There's a smell accompagnying it, something sweet. Bahorel is probably in the kitchen, singing while cooking breakfast as he likes to do during week-ends. Week-ends ! Feuilly can't believe it's saturday morning and he doesn't have to wake up early and run to catch his bus. He doesn't remember the last time he had two whole days to himself. There's a whole lot of things he wants to do, but for now, he 's quite content to stay where he is. It's warm under the comforter, and the sun is shining through the curtains, sending small rays of light on the bed. 

Finally, as his boyfriend's voice has gone through three other songs and the smell is now stronger, Feuilly decides to listen to his growling stomach. He throws the blankets away, shivering a little, pats the floor looking for his slippers. Once his feet warm in the fluffy plush cats, he shuffles to the kitchen. Bahorel is there, back turned to him. He's already dressed, his hair neatly tied into a bun, and Feuilly wonders how and when he did get up, silently enough not to wake him up in the process. But there are more fascinating things at hand, like the fact that Bahorel is still singing. A love song, now that Feuilly is close enough to hear it. Cheesy, but pretty. Bahorel is moving in front of the stove, not quite dancing, but his hips are swaying in rhythm, and it's fascinating to watch, especially in those jeans. 

After a few minutes of watching the show, Feuilly finally steps forwards to embrass his boyfriend. Said boyfriend doesn't jump, which is better since he still has a hot pan in hand. He keeps singing, but Feuilly can hear him smile. The redhead sings the last verses of the song with him, not caring that it's maybe the sappiest thing happening in that flat since Courfeyrac was there last week. Bahorel squeezes his hand, and says :

\- Good morning, sunshine.

Feuilly burries his face against his boyfriend's back and grumbles something. Bahorel seems to understand, and goes back to his cooking, humming under his breath. The swaying has stopped, probably as not to disturb the redhead koala-hugging him. But the hunger proves to be too strong after a while. Feuilly untangles himself from Bahorel, steps aside to look at the stove, then the cook.

\- You're making crêpes ?

\- Yes, Bahorel answers cheerfully. Nothing better to start on the week-end !

\- Did you at least remember to buy some Nutella ?

\- Of course ! Do you think I'm some kind of animal ?

He gestures to the counter top with his spatula. Feuilly jumps on the large jar, almost breaks it in his hast, and takes a huge spoonful of delicious chocolate paste and swallows it whole. Bahorel watches him sit on the countertop and lick the spoon, amused.

\- You know, he remarks, civilized people tend to wait until breakfast is ready to dive into the Nutella.

\- Civilized people invented Nutella, Feuilly retorts, and they will have to live with it. Besides, you do it too. 

\- Guilty as charged. 

Bahorel turns the stove off and leans on the counter, his hands on each side of his boyfriend's hips, trapping him. Feuilly just keeps licking the spoon, looking innocently up at him. Suddenly, the spoon is gone, and Bahorel is kissing him. It's slow and delicious, and a bit messy, and Feuilly has to grip the broad shoulders because everything is spinning around him. A hand on his back stabilizes him, and he uses it as leverage to kiss back, stronger than before. Bahorel's other hand slides under Feuilly's shirt, warm from the stove, and spreads to cover as much as his stomach as he can. Without breaking the kiss, the redhead pulls on the hairtie holding the bun together, and the long, dark hair falls on his hands. He pulls on it lightly, and is rewarded when Bahorel moans lightly. Bahorel's hand climb to his hair in return, combing through the locks, gently, leaving him breathless. Too gently. Feuilly decides to bit on Bahorel's lips, not hard enough to draw blood, making him moan again and the hand in his hair tighten. Better.

They part for a bit of much needed air. Bahorel's hair is messy, his lips red and swollen. Feuilly knows that he's the same, judging by the way his boyfriend is devoring him with his eyes. The too large shirt has slid from his shoulder, his hair is mussed, and judging by the warmth on his cheeks, he's probably flushed too. Bahorel's breath is short when he finally speaks :

\- I don't know what's stopping me from ravaging you right here and there.

\- Nothing. Except that your breakfast will be cold. 

A beat, before Bahorel answers :

\- You know that I can still warm them ? That thing called a microwave ?

\- Then nothing is stopping you.

He grins, and lifts Feuilly on his shoulder. The redhead squeals in delight and flails, sending his slippers god knows where. Bahorel marchs him towards the bedroom, drops him on the bed, and almost crushes him in his hast to join him. Shirts are quickly ripped off, followed by Bahorel's pants, and they kiss again, stronger than before, forgetting everything that isn't each other for two more hours.


End file.
